Witch
by Cindy Snowflake
Summary: Harry Potter, a male demon-dealing witch, meets the Winchesters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I really shouldn't be doing this, since I highly doubt I'll manage any more than three chapters, but I wrote this because I was curious about how Harry might handle the situation of meeting the Winchesters without being able to hide behind the fact that he wasn't a demon-dealing witch. **

**All Supernatural info comes from the wikia and other fanfiction. I own neither Harry Potter nor the Winchesters.**

**Not Beta'ed. Also no slash.**

Chapter One

First Meetings

Dean finally looks down at his freshly battered car, swallowing hard. Sammy made it sound so easy, confessing his issues dealing with Dad's death. He knew he was having issues too.

But he and Sammy were different. Sammy was upset because he wasn't close with Dad and he regretted it; the arguments, the misunderstandings, the miscommunications, the lost time. Dean was upset because he was closest with his father, understood him best, and because he knew, no matter how he didn't want to acknowledge it, that the reason Dad died was to save him.

"What do they call this?" Dean thought aloud clinically to himself, caressing a dent he put on the Impala himself just moments before in a fit of rage. "Survivor's guilt?"

"Man, you sure did a number to her."

Dean turned around at the unfamiliar voice with a light British accent, drawing his pistol in a flash and aimed it at the young man he found behind him.

He was short, with messy black hair and green eyes wandering over the damage Dean dealt to his surroundings. What caught Dean's attention though was the blood on the man's hands and a small cloth bag clutched in his right.

Dean cocked his gun and lined it to the man's heart. "What's that in your hand?"

The man glanced down. "What, this thing? I think it's a, er, what did she call it, a hex bag? Yeah, I may be a witch, but Merlin if I understand this stu – "

BANGBANGBANG

The man's, no, the witch's expression was almost comical when he realized Dean just shot a series of rock-salt rounds into his chest. Dean watched with cold eyes as the wounds began to bleed. It would've been more effective to use an actual bullet since witches were human, but his pistol was loaded with salt, and from such close quarters the salt rounds were fully capable of dealing a fatal wound.

Dean didn't know which victim bled on that witch's hands, or what plans the witch had for the hex bag, but his dad trained him to kill the supernatural, and that's what he was going to do.

"Bloody hell," croaked the witch, pushing himself off the car he collapsed against when shot, stumbling a few steps. "Guess I deserved that." Limbs jerking, a hand came up to his shoulder, fumbled a few times, then grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head. With a loud crack, the only evidence of his visit left was bloodstains.

Dean stood there, hand raised, finger still at the ready to pull the trigger once more. He didn't know all the powers of witches, but teleportation without chants or rituals or symbols was one he was pretty sure they didn't have.

Eventually, he gave the issue up and returned to his Impala, blanking his mind with the tedious job of popping out the dents.

* * *

><p>"I wish we never took this job, just… jacked everything up."<p>

Sam looked quizzically at this strange statement from his brother with no little worry.

"What do you mean?"

Dean paused, looking down to the side, trying to word his thoughts, his new anxiety, before peering at his brother over the roof of the car.

"Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy, our whole lives."

"Okay," Sam replied, clearly unsure what point his brother was trying to make and doing his best to humor him.

"What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us…"

"Dean, after what happened to Mom," Sam started. The uncertainty was clear on his brother's face; the shock of seeing the so-called "shades of gray" had shaken his world, that world of black and white Dad took great pains to build. He couldn't condemn Dean, or his dad, for what they chose to do, for being who they were. "Dad did the best he could."

"I know he did."

Dean knew, probably better than anyone, the pain his dad went through and the sacrifices his dad made when raising his two sons, and because he knew, he thought the world of the man. But.

"But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire in the mill I didn't even think about it; hell I even enjoyed it."

Sam nodded absently at this confession. It was an expected state of mind. It's easier to kill when you hate, after all. But that's not what Dean needed to hear right now.

"You didn't kill Lenore."

"No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all."

"Yeah Dean, but you didn't," Sam said with quiet confidence, "and that's what matters."

"Yeah," Dean whispered, looking everywhere but at Sam. "Well, 'cause you're a pain in my ass."

Sam let out a breath of laughter through his nose. "Guess I might have to stick around and be a pain in the ass then." He opened the door, indicating that the conversation was over.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Brill! Mind being that pain in the ass right this moment and tell him not to kill me again, Sam?"

The brothers jumped at the voice with the light British accent, turning in unison to face a young man with ruffled black hair and dancing green eyes lounging on the trunk of the car.

Dean, his instincts screaming, drew his pistol and aimed.

"Whoa there, Dean!" Sam called out, reaching an arm over the car roof to place a steady hand on his brother's raised arm.

Dean made no motion of acknowledgement, but he didn't shoot at least.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead, Witch?"

The man only grinned wider.

"Doesn't seem like it, huh? And please don't shoot me again. Last time was during a new moon, so it was quite useful to me. Today, not so much, though I still won't die."

Dean snarled at the vague words. "Are you telling me you aren't human or what?"

"Oh, I'm human," the man reassured, "just a demon-dealing witch with a handy way of staying alive regardless of fatal wounds and sickness. And really, put the gun down, it's making me nervous."

Sam's eyes were darting between the two, trying to comprehend the situation. So far, all he knew was that Dean met the guy before, believes him to be a witch, and may or may not have killed him once already.

"Would someone mind clarifying things a bit?"

Dean ignored him in favor of asking the witch another question.

"Why should I? You admitted it yourself, right demon-dealer? I ought to send your soul straight to hell, you fucking bastard. And if you can't die, why does it make you nervous?"

"Cause it bloody well hurts, of course!"

Sam's eye twitched.

"Enough! Dean, put that gun down and you," he pointed at the man he still didn't know the name of, "put your hands in the air where we can see them so we can have a civil conversation."

Grumbling, the two did as they were told, though Dean chose not to put the gun away and held it ready but lowered.

"First things first," Sam announced, satisfied by the obedience displayed. "Introduce yourself."

The witch gave a cheeky smile and waved one of his raised hands. "It's nice to meet you both again Sam, Dean. I'm a witch; name's Harry Potter."

Dean's hand clenched tight but at this point, Sam had walked around the front of the car to stand next to his brother and put a hand on his arm to keep it down.

"How do you know our names, and what do you mean again?"

"Man, just 'cause your dad worked solo and taught you guys to as well doesn't mean the other hunters don't gossip. Viciously efficient, rumor mills are," Harry stated, wrinkling his nose. "Winchester is a known name in most circles now, but you should know all this from Gordon, yeah?"

"Alright then," Sam accepted, and then continued on, choosing to ignore the reference to Gordon for his and his brother's sanity. "And by meeting us again?"

Harry pouted. "You don't remember me, Sam? I'm hurt. Dean knows me and I've only met him once for a few minutes. 'Course, he was trying to kill me, so that might be why."

Sam eyed the witch contemplatively. It was true that the body structure and accent seemed familiar, but, well, that was to be expected since they seem about the same age, and Sam knew a lot of body structures and accents after Stanford. Actually, there was one short British student two years ahead of him in college, but the hair and eyes.

Sam's eyes came back to the face and widened when black hair and green eyes melted away into blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Stephen?"

"Sam!" the witch chirped.

"You, you're, what do you mean when you're a witch?"

"Just what it sounds like," he replied with a shrug. "I did something stupid."

"Stupid? Stupid!" Dean exclaimed. "You call selling your soul to a demon stupid? How about evil? I should kill you right here!"

"Please don't," Harry frowned, "not dying is bloody painful."

Sam cut in again between the two. Honestly, they were worse than him and Da –

"Explain why we shouldn't in good conscience put you down right now to prevent you from using your magic to kill people."

"Er, 'cause I'm a hunter too? You know, Sam, you never used to be so assertive in college and I always did think that would end up being a problem when you became a lawyer. 'Course, it's an even bigger problem as a hunter, yeah? Merlin knows I'm glad I got pretty good at faking it, and usually I take on jobs where socializing isn't a big deal so that helps loads." The rambling seemed to have no end when finally he was cut off with a furious snarl.

"Don't fuck with me!"

"Dean!" Sam glared at Stephen, no, the hair and eyes were back to black and green so should he call him Harry? "Are you purposely trying to rile us up?"

"Yes? I mean, er, no?" Harry smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, it's been awhile since I talked to anyone. How do I explain? Well, I'm a witch who sold his soul to a demon in exchange for magic. In my particular case, I renew the contract every new moon with an offering of pain and blood. As a result, there is no time limit for me and as long as I stay alive, the monthly fee is all I have to worry about. During the time in between, I do some jobs related to the hunting business – usually by trying to convince ghosts that they should move on and burning their attachments if that doesn't work. I don't harm the civilians, I swear."

"Your immortality?" Sam prompted.

"Special artifact of mine," Harry explained, "hides me from the reapers long enough for my magic to heal any damage that might otherwise be fatal."

"And your ritual?" Dean snarled. "That offering of blood and pain? Just who are using each month as payment?"

"Well, if I'm lucky, I'll have just finished a hunt for something physical, like a shapeshifter, that I can use. It's so unfortunate that I can't use rogue werewolves since I catch all those on full moons, not new. Otherwise, the offering is usually me. It's amazing how much pain and blood one can offer when immune to death."

Sam winced. The tone of voice clashed horribly with the words being spoken, and it didn't help that part of him was still reeling at the idea that this was a former upperclassman of his.

"So," Dean started, having reached some kind of conclusion, "when you said me killing you was useful?"

"Yeah, I just popped myself into the ritual circle for an hour to bleed, and voila, contract renewed."

There was an awkward silence as the brothers just stood there and stared. After all, what do say in reply to something like that?

Eventually, Sam asked one last question.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, I follow a lot of hunters around, actually, to clean up loose ends that humans can't do much about. I watched Peter off to the next world, attended Dean's funeral – it wasn't much really, lifted that bug curse in Oklahoma and let the Pikes know – they don't completely believe it's safe though, convinced Kate she'd be better off underground from now on; stuff like that. As to why I'm actually talking to you guys," Harry shrugged.

"The first time was 'cause I was bored. I actually wanted to say hi to you, Sam, see if you still remembered me and stuff, but, well, the timing was pretty bad I guess. This time, I just felt like I should point out that you really don't have to worry too much about killing things in the past that didn't need killing. I mean, it's not like any of you hunted anything until its murderous deeds were already in the papers."

And with a crack, Harry vanished.

Dean looked at Sam, who looked back bewilderedly.

"Does this mean," Dean asked, "we've got a stalker?"

"Cheh," Sam snorted, circling back to the passenger side of the car. "An immortal demon-dealing witch claiming to be a former college-mate of mine has been following us and a bunch of other hunters without detection for months and the first thing you think is sexual predator. Let's go already. We can ask Bobby or Ash about witches who hunt when we tell someone to untie Gordon."

* * *

><p>Sam stood quietly beside the car, refilling the gas tank. When Dean came out of the gas station convenience store with food and water, they nodded at each other and entered the car.<p>

Driving was silent. Ever since Dean finally came out and admitted his guilt in causing Dad's death he didn't play any music, and neither talked. Rather, they both sat in silence, taking comfort in each other's presence.

"Man, this is some angst moment."

With a screech, Dean slammed on the brakes and Sam turned to look at the back seat. Sure enough, there was Harry the witch, sitting in their car with that cheeky grin and bird's nest of black hair.

"Been a few months, yeah?"

"How the hell did you get in here?" Dean demanded.

"Popped in while you guys were taking petrol break. Don't make too much of it, alright? It's not that big an issue."

"I think witches being able to teleport into my car is a damn big problem!"

"Pfft, really. I'm probably the only witch that can so that, and the other people who know how don't give a damn about either of you. Now keep driving, you're blocking the exit and I think the people behind us bought gas so they could go places with it, not sit and burn it on air conditioning."

"Other people?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Huh, well, since you are supernatural hunters, it shouldn't be breaking the Statute of Secrecy to tell you what I mean."

Harry drew a hand through his hair before flopping down to lie horizontally across the backseat.

"Let's see. You guys know about witches that make deals with demons in exchange for magic, usually to give up their soul when they die or just after a certain number of years, right? And to use that magic, they've got chants, and rituals, and symbols, and hex bags, and stuff. But some people are born with magic, and all they need to use it are powerful emotions or a focus like a wand and some magic words. For those people, the women are witches and the men are wizards. This popping thing I do? It's from the second group, and they live in their own community, in the Wizarding World, and it's doubtful any of them know you exist, let alone care to pop into your car or home."

Dean narrowed his eyes. People who had the power of magic without forming a contract with a demon? That's something he had never heard before and he certainly wasn't going to just swallow the idea.

"Say we believe you," Sam spoke up, "that there is some foreign wizarding place of magic people who don't worship demons. Why can you do what they can when you're a witch of the variety that Dean and I hunt?"

"Simple enough," Harry replied, but he kept his eyes on his hands rather than make eye-contact. "I used to be a wizard in that world."

**A/N: I just might write one more chapter where Harry explains why he's a male witch instead of a wizard, but after that, this story will be up for grabs from anyone who likes it. Just let me know so I can read it, 'kay?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This has been more popular than I expected :)**

Chapter Two

Explanations

"Ste-um, Harry," Sam spoke up after a lengthy pause, once it didn't seem like the witch was going to explain what he meant.

Harry looked up startled. "You can call me Stephen if you like," Harry replied, his hair and eyes melting blonde and blue.

"No, I think it's easier to call you Harry. Stephen was a student at Stanford I vaguely knew; you are," Sam tried to explain.

"No problem," and the hair and eyes melted back to black and green. "I suppose I should explain more about me, huh?"

"That would be appreciated," Dean gritted out, feeling very impatient.

"Keep your knickers on, seriously," Harry retorted cheekily.

"Right, well, long story short, I was born to a witch and a wizard, but had the really bad luck of not being gifted any magic of my own. People like that are called squibs, and basically, I was doomed to a life of being looked down on by the Wizarding World and possibly eventually escaping to the Muggle world, er, non-magic world, and becoming a janitor or something."

"So you made a deal for magic so you could fit in?" Sam asked.

"Er, well, hold on. At first, no one knew. Magic doesn't really show until at least the toddler years. When I was one, this Dark Lord wizard guy called Voldemort attacked my family, killed my parents, and tried to kill me. Because of a series of events no one really knows or understands, his magic failed to kill me, and instead, it split his soul and destroyed his body. Part of his soul went into me and with it, hypothetically, I gained magic. I went to a school for magic at eleven, failed to stop Voldemort's return to power in my fourth year, and defeated him when I was seventeen by first getting myself killed to destroy his soul piece inside me and then coming back to kill the rest of him."

"You lost your magic," concluded Sam.

Harry gave an awkward grin. "You got it. Man, I was devastated. So, I met a demon who probably was attracted to all the blood on the battlefield, made a contract, and now I've got magic again that I can use just like before – hell, better than before – except the source is no longer me. Er, well, no longer Voldemort's soul piece."

Dean started driving again and the car was silent as the Winchester brothers thought over this strange story. They had no reason to believe this person, but they didn't have many other options. He wasn't going to tell the truth just because they ask if he was indeed lying, they didn't have enough info to avoid him successfully, and as of yet they couldn't kill him. The best they could do for now was trying to collect a bit more information on him. Bobby, when asked, said he never heard of a hunter who was also a witch, but also never heard of a rogue witch that fit Harry's description. He promised to ask around, but otherwise couldn't help much.

"Harry, why were you at Stanford?" Sam finally asked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, when I realized what I did, I couldn't stick around in the Wizarding World for a variety of reasons, major one being guilt, second major one being that demon dealing is highly illegal. I told everyone I'd be going into hiding from Voldemort's followers and moved to America. The college idea was never anything serious. I cheated my way through pretty much all of it using magic. Basically, I needed more info on just what the contract meant, so school was just a cover while I poked around. Gotta say, Sam, I didn't expect to attend college with a hunter."

Sam scowled, probably about to say that at that point in his life, he was trying to give up the hunter life when Dean interrupted.

"Didn't ever expect a witch to be a hunter either."

Harry grinned. "Well, it was ruining my manly pride being a witch after so long of being a wizard that I just had to at least pick a decent career. _Hunter_. Damn, but that sounds like tough guy stuff."

"Ha!" Dean exclaimed. "I have to agree with you on that point."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, tough guy stuff, chasing ghosts, dodging police, faking identities and raiding cemeteries for bones."

"Well when you've spent your school years protecting a stone that gifts eternal youth and wealth, killing a basilisk, fending off soul-suckers, facing dragons, warrior mermaids, sphinxes, and resurrection rituals, discovering prophecies, hunting ripped soul pieces, and finally defending a castle from giants and werewolves, being a hunter is pretty awesome over any other post-school alternatives I know of."

Dean swore, and then pulled over onto the shoulder. "God-dammit, I can't drive if you keep saying stuff like that!"

"What kind of hellish school did you go to?" Sam exclaimed as he straightened himself up after the car's swerving.

"A pretty good one, really, a nice castle filled with magic. Mostly, the problem was Voldemort trying to come back from his in-between state he ended up in after the attack on my family. Evil bastard wasn't about to give up on his plans of world domination and muggle extermination, after all."

"Muggle?" Sam questioned.

"Er, yeah, it means people without magic like you and Dean."

There was stunned silence. "So basically, there's this whole fucking society out there no one knows about where powerful 'Dark Lord' types rampage and decide to massacre the lot of us," Dean summed up.

"Well," Harry mused aloud, "I know the Prime Minister knows, and I assume your President does too. A lot of those terrorist attacks that England was suffering from a few years ago? Yeah, that was Voldemort and his Death Munchers. There's no point in worrying about it now, though. The Wizarding World is in a state of peace with just a couple small fries left to wrap up. And knowing the Wizarding World, peace means stasis where all the citizens choose to ignore the rest of the planet and nothing changes until the next Dark Lord rises."

Dean and Sam traded looks before turning back to the witch in the back seat who was now poking around the seat cushions and exclaiming happily when he found a penny.

"Shouldn't we worry about this next Dark Lord?" Sam finally asked.

"Er," Harry delayed as he fiddled with his hood and silently offered the penny to Dean who shook his head, irritated. Harry shrugged and put the coin into his jeans pocket, slouching in his seat as he answered. "Voldemort died a couple years ago, having risen to power almost twenty years before that. The Dark Lord before him was Grindewald," the witch continued, ticking off the Dark Lords on his fingers, "who caused trouble during and a few years before the second World War. I think the Dark Lord before him was over half a century dead by then. So either you average the years of peace and decide that there's probably another few decades before you have to worry about it, or draw a downward sloping graph and worry right now."

"Why are you so fucking calm about this?" Dean growled.

Harry blinked. "Well, the US hasn't had a Dark Lord in, well, ever, mostly because the magical community here is smaller and broken up over the large expanse of land. Did you know that despite the fact North America is a significantly larger land mass than Europe, it only has one school for magic while Europe has three? European and Asian Dark Lords also happen to be mostly satisfied with their home continent, so you don't have to worry much about that either. My friends are all trained and skilled in fighting from their experience with Voldemort so I don't worry too much about them, and I self-exiled myself after the demon contract. Nowadays, I worry more about newspaper articles speculating over a mysterious series of death-by-pneumonia."

There was a short silence as none of the three men were sure who should speak up next when Dean finally asked, "Is it safe to drive now?"

Harry smirked. "That depends on if you have any more questions. Answers from me always tend to be quite startling the first few conversations."

"So then, about that demon deal you made," Sam continued, interested in learning about the contract that seemed to result in such different abilities than most witches they've come by. The brothers have only been around Harry a total of two or three 'casual' hours and his power was already intimidating. "How is it different from other deals? I mean, do we have to worry about witches being able to teleport and shape-shift from now on?"

Harry frowned and ruffled his hair a little before answering. "I'm afraid the only answer I can give you is that I highly doubt it."

"That's not very reassuring," Dean scoffed.

"Okay then, how about I give you the second half of the 'Mione Theory of Harry's Latest Bout of Stupidity?" Harry laughed. "The Voldemort's soul piece giving me magic was the first half, by the way."

"'Mione Theory?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, one of my two best friends, Hermione, is an absolute genius. You don't think a guy like me had any idea what I was getting into with that demon problem did you? Or even had any idea where to find out?"

Neither Winchester had an answer, seeing as they didn't know the witch that well in the first place as anything more than a potential threat who could be rather irritating with his lack of ability to sit down and just be serious. Actually, that kind of behavior did make it unlikely for him to be the type who could figure out his situation on his own.

"So anyone, what 'Mione said is that magical people are born with a core of magic that builds channels through our bodies as we age, eventually to the point that we can send magic from our core through a wand like this," Harry withdrew a long stick from the pocket of his hoodie.

"May I?" Sam asked, reaching over.

"Er, probably not a good idea. This one's kind of temperamental. Hold on," the witch replied, taking out another, slightly shorter stick and handing it over to Sam.

"You have more than one? And what do you mean temperamental?" Dean questioned suspiciously, parking his car on the highway shoulder as he gave up on any more driving before Harry leaved.

"Wands are semi-sentient," Harry explained, "and I'll discuss that second wand issue later. So continuing on, the thing about muggles is that they weren't born with cores and thus don't have a convenient storage place for magic, or a way to channel it. When a muggle makes a deal with a demon for magic, what the demon does is give that person a connection to the natural magic that can be found in the earth and air. Using powerful symbolic items in hex bags and weaving strong intent through chants, witches can control magic with that gifted connection. You with me so far?"

Dean and Sam nodded, the latter slightly more interested than the former but both understanding this was information not commonly known.

"When I made the deal, I had grown up a wizard, with a core and channels, just no more magic or ability to make more. Thus, when the connection was made, natural magic is siphoned into my core and I can channel it like I'm used to – with a wand and spell. This connection actually gives me almost unlimited amounts of magic, so I've been getting good at wandless glamours – the changing of my appearance like I used at Stanford. My physical body doesn't change, just the way you perceive me. As for the second wand, that goes into more detailed theory and has little to no relevance to anything you guys might get yourself into. You really want to know?"

Sam nodded. "Of course."

"You're such a nerd," Dean teased, and gave a mock yelp when Sam punched him in retaliation.

"Alright then," Harry continued. "I told you wands are semi-sentient, right? Well, part of that is because of what they're made of and how that changes their compatibility with different people's magic. That wand," Harry pointed to Sam's hand, "is the wand I got before going to Hogwarts when I was eleven – holly with a phoenix feather core. The same phoenix gave another feather, which was the core of Voldemort's wand, except his wand is made of yew."

"I see," Sam said, rolling the holly wand in his hands with interest as he peered at the worn handle. "Because your magic was Voldemort's magic, both of you ended up with wands of the same core."

"Dude, phoenixes are real?" Dean blurted.

"Haha, yes phoenixes are real, though extremely rare," laughed Harry, "and yes, you're absolutely right, Sam. Back then, no one thought of such a possibility because it was simply unheard of. Instead, it was simply assumed that there was some other, more mundane reason, like maybe we were both really powerful, or maybe our lives were tied together through Voldemort's attempt to murder me. Now I know better. That wand," Harry gestured towards Sam, "no longer works for me because my magic is no longer Voldemort's. I keep it mainly for sentimental reasons actually," the witch admitted with a slight blush.

"So you found another wand that worked for your new source of magic? Did anyone find that strange, changing wands after so many years?"

"Actually Sam, not many people know I changed wands, because I left so soon after the final battle. This wand," Harry waved it through the air releasing red sparks, "is actually a bit special. It is called the Elder wand, and it changes allegiance to whoever disarms its last owner, regardless of magic-type, and even manages to enhance the strength of its current master in a show of extraordinary compatibility. This is both good and bad for me. It's good because I defeated its last master thus it works more than perfectly for me. It's bad because the wand is a famous legend in the Wizarding World so if anyone finds out I have it, I'll probably be hunted down by all sorts of people from my old home."

"That, um, sounds unpleasant."

"Oh yes," Harry agreed, nodding absentmindedly as he fiddled with his hood's drawstrings. "Actually, my whole life right now is a mess. I defeated the last Dark Lord, so there are rabid fans and reporters after my blood. Because of the change in my magic, they can't find me through conventional means, which will likely end up bring suspicion from the government sooner or later. If the underground starts to suspect that this change in magic is because I have the Elder wand that last belonged to a powerful old man most assumed to be my mentor, I'll have antique collectors and power-hungry warrior-wizards pursuing me as well. Add on the fact that it's taboo to even talk to a demon in the Wizarding World and that I have to practically kill myself every month to keep my soul and magic – really, the only thing keeping me sane is my ability to ignore my problems and drown out my thoughts by hunting the supernatural. Speaking of which, that news article about the deaths by pneumonia I mentioned earlier? It wasn't just a hypothetical example. Would you mind taking care of it? Tomorrow's the new moon, so I'll be out of it for the next three days. I can help after that if necessary, but I'd like someone to take a look at the situation as soon as possible, you know?"

Sam and Dean shared a glance. It was clear from Dean's indignant expression that he didn't take kindly to the idea of a witch ordering them around to their next job, but Sam cut in quickly, more interested in the news than the one delivering it. "We'll look into it," he promised.

Harry smiled and plucked a rolled up newspaper from midair before handing it over to Sam. While the brothers blinked in shock at the display, Harry gave a cheeky wave and popped out with a soft crack.

"Tch, seriously Sam?"

"Yes Dean," Sam sighed, opening the newspaper to find the article in question. "Just because he's a witch doesn't mean he can't read newspapers and pick up on supernatural activity. Heck, being supernatural probably makes him better at it, and you're the one always going on about how it's our job to take out the evil from the world."

Dean scowled and turned the engine back on. As he smoothly drove the car back onto the highway, he reached a hand over and flipped the music on.

**A/N: So that's it, pretty much. Future updates will be totally spontaneous and out of the blue. It's simply too much bother to keep track of the timeline to a show I've never watched, so it all depends on my fits of motivation to research on the wikia site for plot progression.**

**Again, if anyone wants this, let me know so I can read it too :) Otherwise, meh, maybe I'll work in some Harry-saves-Max action with liberal obliviate usage, haha.**


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